shuffle!

i have just discovered the "shuffle" function on the ipod.

i may never be the same.

a curious reunion, with tapioca.

last night, i saw my first boyfriend and his boy (and my friend), the man on the fellowship, for the first time in ages. it was lovely. though disorienting. i've known these boys since i was 14 and 16 respectively, and to see them in adult form is a little harrowing. first boyfriend's hairline is receding. the man with the fellowship's jaw grows more pronounced, his gait more assured. they are both handsome devils, to be sure (such a lovely couple!), but seeing them sometimes makes me extremely aware of the fact that we are all, as trite as it sounds, growing up. for some reason, this hit me harder last night than it did when i learned that miss m. shea would be hatching a podlet. (also very disconcerting). it's especially poignant when i stop to think about the different circumstances we've all amassed for ourselves. two of us know what we love, and just can't make the world agree with us. one of us is miserable and can't quite figure out how to fix it; one of us is prepping himself to change the world. one of us is in the peace corps; another is writing and editing pornography. such a long journey from the delinquent pack of choir kids we once were. we've developed drinking habits, drug appreciations, been paying taxes and rent and worrying about our health...and while it's an amazing testament that we've all earned our freedom, that we are living our lives as we see fit, there's a tiny part of me that mourns the lives we led when our gravest concerns were who was dating whom, would we get that role in this play, would our choir win ACDA again, what college were we going to. now it's "what if the test was wrong?" and "am i going to make it home without getting mugged?" "am i going to make rent this month?" alarming. and disheartening.

and at the same time, it's not as dire as all that.

first boyfriend and the man with the fellowship have been in love for several years. and that is heartening. m. shea is going to be a great mother, and her kid is probably going to be both smart as a whip and criminally beautiful. and that is heartening. we've known each other for coming on ten years (with firstboyfriend, anyway), and still care about what happens in one another's lives. and that's heartening.

i don't really know what i'm getting at here. other than to say that i love who we've become, i'm so proud of the carass. but sometimes i miss who we were. yes, i suppose that sums it up.

that, and i really, really wish i had an off switch for my brain sometimes.

piccies!

the little owl said it well: it was moments like this that made saturday rock pretty hard.

that, and the fact that if you look at the other photos, it seems to be all about my breasts. and me looking kind of terrible. but happy. and all about my breasts.

singing in my sleep

it's always a bit strange when you catch yourself engaging in those sleep habits which you've only previously known of through hearsay. example: i've always known i talk in my sleep. i've had enough people, platonic and non-platonic alike, confirm this fact for me. but it's rare that i actually gather evidence of this for myself (with the exception of the time i woke myself up yelling to someone in a dream, i actually have virtually no evidence of this fact).

thus, imagine my surprise to find myself making noises last night. no actual speech, just lots of little sighing noises, each time i changed position. little pleased sighing noises. it was both disorienting and kind of nice.

i like having recordable evidence that i'm enjoying my sleeping arrangements. not that i needed to supplement my general sneaking suspicion to that end, but...hm. indeed.

What do you dream about?

You mean when Iím not dreaming about falling airplanes, getting shot in the kneecap or the seductive powers of a good head scratch?

I dream about someday living in a huge, crazy house out in some small town in the middle of nowhere.

I dream about driving through the deep south; peachfields and graceland and the hypnotic powers of that melodic drawl. High summer and curling around

another body far too hot to touch.

I dream about learning to play the trumpet, the violin and the twelve-string guitar.

I dream of one day leaving behind this wretched job of mine to do what I truly love. Even if that means I have to live out of the back of a van for ten years.

I dream about learning to parallel park, and knit. and arc weld. and throw pots. and fix cars. and make a killer thai curry.

I dream of a world where EVERYBODY knows that catcalling women is offensive, and harassing them is completely unacceptable.

I dream about taking a world tour, Egypt and Thailand and Austria and brazil and morocco andÖand everywhere.

I dream (at this particular second) of the ocean.

I dream of one day overcoming my fear of flight.

I dream of things that frighten and intrigue me, far more lucidly than ever before, and i wonder if things are going to fall into place or just fall apart.

the time of your life. right.

the year i graduated from high school, green day released a song called 'good riddance (the time of your life); it gave me my very first lesson in three of life's hard truths. first: when a clear potentially workable idea rears its ugly head, people are goingto jump on it repeatedly; second: creativity is harder to come by than you think. evidenced by the fact that people are unlikely to bother coming up with something different, an idea to succeed the one they're currently gnawing, because that would, in fact, require effort. third: stick with a class misfit for pure obscure entertainment value and the occasional foray into the world of the more esoteric.

the year i graduated from high school, i was chosen to speak at the ceremony. looking back, i realize that it was, for the most part, an honor offered to me because i was the lone person up for it who did not litter their speech with a heavy dose of lyrics from the aforementioned song. five finalists, four statements that high school is "unpredictable, but in the end is right. hope you had the time of your life, happy graduation." if only one person had opted to quote this song, it would have been fine--used in moderation, the lyrics do sort of encapsulate the melodramatic gravitas you feel upon leaving high school. but, recognizing early on in the writing process the insidious nature of this song and its inevitable abuse, i opted instead to reference ferris bueller and the beatles (thus beginning my amazing love for meta-references). i suspect that the judges were so relieved to hear something different that they didn't particularly care that the rest of my speech was largely nonsensical.

the year i graduated from high school, i attended two other graduations. all speeches referenced that damn song.

the year after i graduated from high school, i went back to bear witness to the ascension of several of my friends from our alma mater. three speeches. two further references to the cantata of infinite triteness.

the moral of the story? the more things change, the more things stay the same. and that clearly, green day, is the voice of our generation.

totally.

crisis averted

ships have come in as scheduled.

i am free. and everything's going to be okay.

-

i'm counting down seconds for no good reason, poking idly at buttons just because i have nothing better to do.

2:58. time to go.

FINE, then.

for the record, and apparently contrary to popular belief, i am JUST FINE. i might even go so far as to say that i'm happy (once you get past the whole business of 'i hate my job with a violent burning fuzzy purple passion'). and why wouldn't i be? it's a mild summer, i'm having a rip-snorter of a season with my crazy tribe, i'm off the antibiotics and feeling fabulous. and let's not forget the boy. ah, the boy.

granted, okay, i will admit that there has been something on my mind for the last week or so. but that will dictate its own path tomorrow, and be finished in one way or another. and anyway. i've been doing very well with not thinking about it. much. until last night, actually, i hadn't thought about it for days...

callies

without conference and independently of one another, my brother and sister (separated by many states) have managed to give their dogs the same names.

brilliant!

one of these things doesn't belong

a murder of crows.

a parliament of rooks.

an orgy of editors

one of these things is not like the other

mayhem!

there was a shooting at city hall earlier. the councilman affected is dead. we're supposed to keep an eye out for a man in a blue suit.

because that narrows things down so very much.

the councilman in question was of african-american descent. he was a former policeman who campaigned against urban violence. the fear of many aroudn here is that he was shot by a white man or woman. the fear of many around here is that such an act, with such circumstances, may inflame local racial hatred. perhaps incite some of the urban violence to which the councilman was so opposed. what fitting irony, and what absolute horror that would be.

and yet...and yet the financial district is quiet and still, business as usual. have we all become so desensitized?

i must, i must, i must...

i must remember that i should never, ever be surprised by the infinite nature of human behaviour, of our limitless ability to damage one another, as well as forgive.

i must try to be no more flummoxed by good fortune than bad.

i must recognize that everything is circular and everything feeds upon itself, that the strength i use to help another hold on is available for use only because it was given to me first in my hour of need.

i must stop being afraid of my own thoughts and behaviors.

i must procure myself a new set of headphones.

and i must watch out for the gunman who just opened fire on city hall, five minutes from where i work.

feelings, nothing more than...

i rather feel that new york city is grossly abusing its air-conditioning privileges right now. my blue fingers and numb knees will back me up on that statement.

i also feel that my desk probably warrants a cleaning.

additionally, i feel that it might not be a bad idea for me to resume the carrying of the mace (far more portable than a battle axe, and easier to accessorize)

and in conclusion, i feel that it's someone's birthday, and we need to engage in some more gratuitous and off-key assertations of that fact. happy birthday, biscuit!

i'd rather be a bitch than your whore.

oh baby, you just don't know how hot it makes me when you pull up in your white suburban in a cloud of brake fluid (oh yes, i heard them screaming), pull up along side me and call out to me, offering to "give it to me" because i look like i need "a good deep dicking." offering me twenty dollars when i don't respond, following my progress in your white suburban. when you call me a bitch for ignoring you. it makes me hot just thinking about it.

though you don't turn me on as much as a sixteen year old who grabs my arm as i walk past him, so he can "get a better look at [my] ass." because, really, nothing turns me on more than leaving five matching claw marks deep in the right bicep of anyone who dares touch me, on MY street, in MY neighborhood.

and a nice wad of spit on his cheek to match.

the assholes are out tonight.

same old subject

you may or may not be familiar with one of my most common gripes about the world of my office at the moment: the absolute obsession with weight loss shared by everyone here but me. it infuriates me. it makes me livid.

and today, i stopped to wonder why

and the answer is so blindingly obvious, it's mindblowing. i can't believe i haven't really thought about it before. (in the words of the navigators, it's so simple it's hard)

to start, i am infuriated by this obsession of theirs because my own obsession with it (past, fortunately) nearly killed me. you may recall that i spent four years agonizing over it, my entire college education. when i was finished, i was very thin, but completely crazy and completely miserable. i looked...well, not great, but certainly closer to textbook standards of beauty. but i looked terrible. wild-eyed and drawn.

and it's taken me since then to come to terms with myself, to make peace with this body. i'm no longer fighting it, and we're both much happier.

and then i realized that it's not so much that i'm angry with these women and their obsession, as i'm angry with the fact that they have nothing better to talk about, no hobbies, no friends (beyond their boyfriends and husbands) and somehow, they think that's okay.

THAT is what makes me angry. that just depresses the hell out of me. we all know how i feel about mundanity, and these women are, as far as i can tell walking willingly into its maw.

hmm. but, backing up, perhaps i'm being harsh. i am not one to pass judgment on the way people live, what they fill their existences with to make them happy. if that's what they want, if that's what makes them happy, whatever. fine.

all i know is that i feel more beautiful when i step off the stage, or when i say something that makes a room full of people laugh, than i ever feel when i'm just dressed nicely or wearing perfect makeup...when my beauty is perceived in those situations, i feel it's far more potent than any appreciative whistle i got when i was thin. and i wouldn't have those moments if i spent every waking second obsessing over my appearance. or perhaps i would, but i wouldn't revel in their sticky sweetness as i do now.

rain, rain, you're twelve hours late

as we watched the world go by from the back of the taxi, exhausted, i said that i wanted nothing more than a big, noisy, bright thunderstorm to roll in during the night, to hear it raging outside while we lay twined and dry in my dark little room.

clearly, nature got the message. and don't think i don't appreciate it, but you're a little bit late.

reanimation! reanimation!

last night...last night's show...was polar. very, very polar. on one hand, it felt great. my voice was strong for the first time in weeks, and i was having an absolute ball just warbling away. doing what i do best. what i love most. and, oh, how i'd missed it. it's a known fact that the only thing on this earth that will make me stop smoking for any period of time is the loss of my voice; when the voice is gone, we start taking care of ourselves, because quite frankly, i suspect the voice is worth more than the rest of me. and there's little that scares me more than the thought of damaging my voice permanently. (you: anti-smokers. i can hear you retorting from here. hush!)

and i rocked the socks off reclamation. quite possibly the best time i'd ever played it. ever.

and on the other hand...it was wrenching. it broke my heart. i made someone cry last night. as you know, many of the things i've written are...vitriolic. standing in as therapy, summarizing the things that have hurt me. but i think they touched a nerve. there was sweeping from the room and me suddenly forgetting the words to a song i can sing in my sleep.

it was upsetting.

while it is ostensibly the dream of most musicians to accomplish just that, to make someone feel a hard rush of emotion...i want my music to resonate, to connect with people. but i don't want it to be because i am pouring salt in a wound.

thus, the dilemma. i don't know if i should be proud of myself over that or not. you know?

honey/vinegar

i had a very good discussion with little owl the other day about office politics and the honey/vinegar theory (as in, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar)...and it's something i've been thinking about a lot, as i've been highly agitated in the workplace of late. and it makes me wonder if i'm just too optimistic, or too naive or too something for my own good. but somewhere along the way, i actually did get it into my head that the best way to get someone to help you is not to overwhelm them by force, using terse sentences and the banner of your power, but to simply be nice. and i am sometimes amazed at how well that philosophy works. and how easily it is forgotten, as well. an example from my own life: we have man in chicago, man in sao paolo, both of whom want me to do some writing for them. guy in chicago is rude to me, tearing apart in a non-constructive manner something i've bent over backward to tailor to his specifications (i know, i harp on this guy a lot, but he really bothers me). ergo, therefore, now when i see his name in my inbox, i ignore it. i put it off as long as i can and i rarely do things for him voluntarily. now. man in sao paolo? always has a moment to say hello. is always very positive about the work we do for him out of this office. all critiques are constructive. we treat each other like human beings, and as a result, if i see a missive from him, i take care of his request as soon as i can.

perhaps it's childish. perhaps it's petty. but someone who says thank you is far more likely to win my loyalty and my elbow grease than someone who makes my day unpleasant.

hm. okay. looking at that above missive, i must reiterate: i'm still a cynical old bandicoot. but i am a big believer in basic courtesy. seriously.

hello, this is julie, your cruise director

this weekend:

we resurrected brunch en masse.

my closet collapsed.

i was promised mango margaritas and gary oldman movies if i'd just hurry up and get better.

i will (probably) be shaving boy's head. sort of.

i continued to have the most astonishingly, upsettingly lucid dreams.

i actually got around to scrubbing the bathtub.

i saw biscuit's vacation photos.

i had an epiphany: summer exists purely to get us through the winter. chew on that.

emo memo

okay. clearly i missed the memo that alerted us all to the fact that "emo" is an acceptable term to describe a certain kind of fashion statment (extending, of course, beyond the previously known and accepted "emo glasses"), one which involved corduroy trousers and vintage t-shirts and floppy hair.

i'd always just called it 'williamsburg.' clearly, further proof that i am about as far from 'hip' as one is likely to get while living in new york city.

thank goodness.

disjointed three times

1. i had dirt on my back and under my fingernails and in my hair as we laughed our way out of the park, delirious with our skived afternoon. i was feeling calm, at last, detached from the rest of this week and less anxious than i'd been when we arrived. we joked that i'd gotten in a scuffle, perhaps with the man practicing with his quarterstaff on the bluff, for disrespecting my woman. this was the story we told the boys, who didn't even look surprised, until we told them that we were lying, that i'd just chosen a dusty spot to watch the sky for a few hours. i feel perhaps i ought to work on my public image; i seem to have an ill-founded reputation as a brawler.

2. when i get an idea in my head, i have a tendency to worry it like a small terrier with a bone. it is occasionally a useful habit, as sometimes it allows me to solve problems quickly. other times, it's a problem, sending me into an endless feedback loop that does nothing but compile a wall of noise. it is not, generally speaking, a terribly productive habit.

3. i have a new song half-written.

that is all.

dreaming

those dreams you get, when you can't figure out where you stand between the waking world and the shadows of dreaming, when it takes you minutes to determine whether what you just saw behind your eyes is a part of this reality?

i've been having those.

i had a lot of those last night.

the one that sticks out the most involved a trip to england. i'd gone there to see the family i'd lived with in bath; bath had become a seaside village, a sunny fishing town not entirely unlike brighton (minus the piers and plus a replica of the great basilica in moscow--whose name currently escapes me--in the harbor)...i met up with some other friends and we went to a club for low light and drinks; my cel phone unfolded into four panels, and i was trying desperately to assemble it so i could call the boy.

enter the englishman. this is where the dream got weird, where things started happening that prompted me to wake up shaking in that not-so-good way. i don't really want to go into it. suffice it to say, it was not anything that would have happened in reality. but i was addled enough when i awoke that it really took me a few minutes to figure out that i hadn't just done something incredibly stupid. as it is, i'm going to be curling my tendrils out quite a bit today, digging my fingers in to keep reassuring myself of where i actually am. yes virginia, it really was that freaky.

they didn't even put me on hold!

what does it say about the world at large and what it has come to that i am surprised--no, staggered--that a bureaucratic matter with which i was enmeshed allowed itself to be solved quickly and easily?

i didn't even get to be difficult!

wanderlust

the wanderlust is coming to call again, my old friend. my feet are itchy and not helped by jewel-toned discussions of egypt and mexico, of morocco and dubai, of sunlight and sandstorms and the stale air of history.

i live in one of the world's most exciting cities--arguably the most exciting--and yet i spend hours daydreaming about getting away. i don't need to go far; i don't need to wake up in hong kong tomorrow, i don't need to take a soujourn with a bedouin tribe. all i want is to jump in a car and go somewhere, to watch the horizon unspool in front of me. somewhere where the roads are dusty and you can see sky for miles. to watch the world go by and listen to the radio fading in and out as you look up at stars you'd forgotten existed.

temper, temper

i used to think that my fighting style was a precise replica of my mother's: fast to heat, exploding bright and hot and loud. quick to cool as well. no grudge. all this was in opposition to my sister's style, which is slow to build and absolutely terrifying when it happens, and lingering.

the longer i analyze it, however, the more i realize that i'm molding myself to be somewhere between the two. largely because with the things that cause me most fury, i don't have the luxury of a cathartic explosion. because it doesn't do to yell at your co-workers, particularly not in the new new economy. and there, within the walls of this cubicle, is where my anger lies. as such, i have the high-burning waves of temper, but i am forced to hold on to them rather than vaporize them. and so they fuel the low fire, the kind that i know my sister is the master of (easy to ignore until one day they become an inferno). they shore up the one grudge i've been capable of keeping in living memory.

my fighting style (or, more specifically, my temperament) is changing; it travels in pulses and waves. i find myself having brief moments of blinding fury, absolute rancor about my impotence here, my frustration. they well up and make me see stars, catch my breath and gasp with the intensity, and i swallow them. in return, i get a slow burning seethe that makes me grind my teeth at night. it's part of the reason i started this little diary of mine, so i could vent some of this frustration without causing damage to myself and others. after all, while i keep the temper under fairly stringent control most of the time, the day will come when i will snap entirely, and i will either get fired or break someone's face.

you gave me a...

I canít pinpoint when it was that I fell in love with pet names. tiger, tiger beat, tiger lily, ninja, ninja scroll, ninjabiscuit, babydoll, honey, sweetie, sugar, peaches, baby, babycakes, sweet thang, pumpkin, cupcakeÖI never used to traffic in these things, perhaps I am indelibly altered by a spell in which I was referred to as ëmuffin,í a moniker that I consistently hated and never understood. but nowÖnow? now Iím a pet name junkie. just ask the biscuit. I think it has something to do with the way a phrase or name will adhere itself to a person, or collective of peopleÖhow the right name will wrap itself around someone like a swath of wet silk; thatís how I came to have the biscuit. and the tribe. itís how I ended up as a part of the carass when I was younger. those names just felt right. and it felt that by calling these entities by a name of my own devising, it somehow made them mine (in a non-single white female kind of way; more a bonding thing). names have power (moonchild). so does giving them.

sometimes, though, I think that my love of pet names is purely reactionary. I started using them when I was at a particularly virulent ebb of hating my own name; shortly after I had an English teacher who attempted to convince me that I had been pronouncing my name incorrectly my whole life. shortly thereafter the people who were nearest and dearest became known to me as ëbunnyí and ëbabyí in lieu of their own names. whether I did so in an attempt to be given a new name myself or actually procure myself a slightly different identity (the top of every fifteen year oldís wish list) is still in question. Iím not saying that thereís an indelible correlation between the two, but I wouldnít be too surprised if thatís really where it started.

so, since then, Iíve been fond of pet names; they are a sign of highest affection from me. I have grown accustomed to my own, that bestowed upon me by my friends, even growing to love it because I am so acutely aware of the affection behind it. but, you know. my mind still wanders sometimes, wonders what I would choose if I could reasonably select my own pet name (which is, of course, not how it works at all) . some are mundane, others blatantly silly. as youíve seen before, Iíve always been fond of ëkittení for reasons I canít explain. Iím even really loving the ëshivvyí (it only took me twelve years). and I must admit that my spine melts just a little when someone calls me ëbaby.í Iím even starting to love my name in its natural state.

and this is progress.

ACE OF SPADES! ACE OF SPADES!

it's been found, been located, the mystical stage where mere mortals go to become the rock stars they always knew they could. i speak of the monday night punk metal fest at arlene's grocery. the monday night punk metal karaoke fest. i'd been hearing vague rumblings about it for ages, but never actually had enough initiative to drag myself down to the lower east side to partake. but ah,i shall be so passive no more. 'twas good fun indeed. though you could clearly tell who was a group regular (such as the iggy pop-alike) and who wasn't (like the girl in the red halter top), there was much fearlessness (fueled by liquor, but fearlessness nonetheless). i opted not to participate this time around; by the time i'd gotten my nerve and determined that there actually were some songs i knew well enough to sing, the regulars were on the stage and rocking it the hard way. and, quite frankly, i was far too intimidated.

my favorite parts of the evening were the unlikely powerhouses, the unassuming and nondescript types who, belied by their mild exteriors, were secret heavy metal superstars. such as: small blonde girl with short hair, so sweet and unassuming, tearing the lid off cretin hop. or the boy by the name of wellington, who wanted us all to talk dirty to him. they were fantastic.

the punk metal extravaganza was prefaced by a reading, sponsored by a zine thing that boy works with, one story. not to sound predisposed and snobbish, but i enjoyed it much more than i'd expected to. while i've always derived a certain amount of pleasure from seeing people read their works, i've been slightly scarred by the readings at sarah lawrence, where no matter what was being read, there was flagrant abuse of the...sarah lawrence....poetry voice. rubbish. it's enough to turn you from poetry and prose for all eternity. as such, i was pleasantly surprised by the entire experience. good story, great turnout.

all told, not so bad for a monday night, if you overlook the mta, the antibiotics and the cruel surprise from con ed that awaited me upon my return home. and you know? even those weren't so bad.

~fun with other variables to balance things out.~

words words WORDS

we are blowing off steam here in the big pop culture whoredom. in order to reclaim the notion of words as something lovely and whimsical (as opposed to instruments of frustration and pathos), we're asking for YOUR TOP FIVE! what are your favorite words? a few contributors, to get the ball rolling:

shivery's top five:

luscious. asphyxiate. tachyon. bramble. stochastic.

little owl's top five:

serendipity. pumpkin. succulent. ameliorate. hyacinth.

raindog's top five:

fuck. absurd. desperate. isinglass. exsanguinate.

the tzar's top five:

indefatigable. blithe. paunch. faraday. crouton.

what are your top five? drop a note in the guestbook (or elsewhere)...i'd like to know.

-

so, i've just had my writing style broken down by decimal points. i'm simultaneously insulted, flabbergasted and slightly impressed. here's the chart:

Current Form Submitted Form Result

Passive sentence structure 22% 7% Weaker structure

Readability statistics (ease) 47.5 49.4 Harder to read

Grade level (to me the lower the better) 10.8 10.2 Harder for 2nd language audience to read

i have no idea how this is going to line up.

but...wow. irritated.

sunny sunday

i think it's fairly safe to say that yesterday was one of the most beautiful days on record; for this year, certainly. and pleasant, as well. i was ambushed in the park by one of my favorite companions, caught unawares with a cosmo in one hand and a trashy novel in the other...i can no longer pretend that i am a lady of high culture. not that i ever did, but now the option is lost to me should the whim ever strike me.

but that is neither here nor there.

another altogether too pleasant weekend to add to the pile. pulp exhibit at the brooklyn museum, show saturday night of one of my favorite bands with the boy...(and i never cease to be fascinated by how astute he is). lazy sunday morning and parkness, john cleese and sushi. we watched little leaguers on the west side diamonds, so young and so small that most reached barely to my knee. the innings seemed endless, with strike zones the size of canteloupes and bunted home runs.

all told, my words won't do justice to the niceness of the day, which was sun and warmth and pleasure to the nth degree; i lack the words to adequately express.

but it makes me sleep well at night.

the englishman returns

it has come to my attention that the englishman will be coming to town in early september. and while i am clearly improving in that such news no longer causes my blood to run cold, i am still...well, i'm not sure. neither apprehensive nor curious are quite appropriate. somewhere inbetween the two is where i am right now, i'd say. either way, it's going to be interesting; i've not seen the man since our last ill-fated meeting, the one that made me write one of my favorite songs (mark on my finger, for those of you playing along at home) and ended with me drunk, bewildered and wishing that the asphalt would just open and swallow me.

what an act to follow.

but then, unless he is actually some sort of metahuman insanity magnet (which i don't think he is) i am not certain that we could top that for sheer weirdness.

but that doesn't mean we're not going to try, i'm sure.

but you know? i'm looking forward to it. does this mean i've grown up?

well, this one's all over the place.

i'm sleepy today. and in a curious temper. which is an improvement on the foul temper i was nursing earlier this week...it's been an odd morning. it's murky outside, and somewhere between warm and cool. waking up was an odd process; i was both tired and restless, and couldn't find a comfortable way to navigate my bedfellow. i think i may have elbowed him in the face once or twice. late for work again. confused by early morning murmurings and my dreams of importing the world's fair to bowling green (best not to ask). but a nice hot shower and a nice warm boy will do much to lift a mood.

i spoke to my family last night, finally, after the month long disappearance. my family. ach. if we are renowned for anything, we are legendary for our remarkable ability to not speak to each other. sometimes it's like we don't even know each other, like we're strangers. and while this doesn't bother me most of the time, i rather like being left to my own devices. but occasionally...occasionally...it becomes particularly clear when i am indulged a long ramble about it. because when i speak about it, i am forced to organize certain facts in my head. to actually think about it.

anyway. it's hardly a tragedy. there are plenty of people with stranger and more fucked up relationships with their families than i have.

in other news, boy and i made a pilgrimage to kip's bay to see the pirates of the caribbean movie...and you know? it was a lot of fun. a really entertaining little film. and i think that this one is absolutely correct in saying that johnny depp was absolutely channeling his inner bitchy queen for this one. he was an absolute comic delight, and looked like he was having a ripping good time, as did geoffrey rush. somehow, even onscreen, the enthusiasm was absolutely infectious.

i have no engagements set for tonight. i think i will, therefore, be spending it at home with the pod, a large pile of sushi and some trashy magazines. paint my nails. do some girly maintenance, like eyebrows and face maskes and stuff. be self indulgent and have the down time i've not had in what feels like ages. ah yes, ah yes. perhaps i'll find my way out of this particular little haze of mine...

lippy

things that amuse me endlessly, #382:

last night, after divine pizza and before a third divine round of drinks, i applied lipgloss. fairly standard stuff. smells good, very shiny, kind of pink. the shiny pinkness caught the attention of two my drinking companions, burly (straight) manly men in the full bloom of manhood. terribly interested in my lipgloss. removing the cap, smelling it for...toxins, i don't know. they look so very interested that i reveal that i have two other colors of the same stuff in my bag, if they were interested in examining them as well.

transifxed, glassy-eyed nods.

i pass around the other two tubes, and the spectacle repeats. and then, and THEN, to my absolute delight, the filmmaker...starts...to...apply....it. the clear stuff with the sparkles that smells like raspberries. it made me so unbelievably happy. i only wish his girlfriend had been there to see it; i think she would have been the only person who could appropriately appreciate that moment with me.

the sound and the fury

i am in an unbelievably foul temper this morning. it's like i'm getting a simultaneous combination of the ladycycle insanity (from which i did not suffer this month) and the bitchiness of the ten days i did not smoke (from which i also did not suffer at the time). divine vengeance upon my head for not suffering beastheathen insanity while these things were actually happening. basically, there is to be no reasoning with me for a few hours, i think. which is why it's probably very good that the head of our IT department is nowhere to be found online; i'd have a pretty piece to say to him, and he is not really deserving of this sort of vitriol. mildly, because it's the team out there that is largely responsible for the two-week delay on our website release. which is neither here nor there. if bosslady comes back spitting fire and frothing about why the site has not made an appearance, i have no compunction about pointing fingers to hong kong. sad, but true. but we've upheld our end of the bargain out here. dammit.

anyway. trying to focus on the positive. while the roiling blackness of this mood is kind of a nostalgic thrill trip (my preoccupation of the last few months has kept me from this particular threshold), it requires entirely too much energy. so, let's examine the plus side, here. ten things about which i am pleased:

1. my father, after a long disappearance, has finally resurfaced. i'm starting to suspect that he's not actually a businessman, but a secret agent. long trips to exotic locales? no communication while he's away? i feel that all signs point to "ridding the world of evil." either that, or he's a superhero. or possibly a merchant marine.

2. the temperature has dropped a little bit, so it's actually only 'wicked hot' instead of 'fucking hot.'

3. i am listening to peggy lee.

4. i got my favorite pants back from roos, after weeks of complete slackness on my part.

5. tonight, pizza and beer at the gate with the tribe. assuming we don't get rained on, it's going to be a nice decompressor at the end of the day.

6. roos brought my back the loveliest gift from his cruise, and i adore it. it's sitting on the green desk of infinite happiness and bringing me much shiny boxy joy.

7. i am wearing flat shoes and clean underwear. for those of you who had actual contact with me yesterday, you know this is a step up.

8. i finally remembered to bring the book-o-cd's home from the office, so that i may transfer them to the pod. this has been an event several weeks in the making; proof that i am, in fact, the biggest flake EVER.

9. i actually went to kickboxing yesterday for the first time in forever, and while my ass is still somewhere in the middle of next week, i can actually move today.

10. three words: reliable phone communication. even a couple hours later than expected. so sexy.

there. ten things for me to focus on to keep the angry swirls floating about my head outside and away from the cranium.

p.s. an eleventh thing: the song 'hey julie' by fountains of wayne. it's making my really, really happy.